


I'll make your heart smile

by dana_norram



Series: A question of lust (trust) ~ aka The Monastery Series [1]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, First Time, Flirting, M/M, Missing Scene, Porn with Feelings, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24266098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_norram/pseuds/dana_norram
Summary: Mirko always felt uneasy at that part, the bit when you are supposed to play with your food before eating it. When you grew up accustomed to limited options, you did learn not to be picky.Or: Helsinki takes on Palermo's offer.Now there's a Spanish translation available:Haré sonreír tu corazón
Relationships: Helsinki | Mirko Dragic & Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: A question of lust (trust) ~ aka The Monastery Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772728
Comments: 18
Kudos: 73





	I'll make your heart smile

**Author's Note:**

> I find it fascinating how the flashbacks in _La Casa de Papel_ aren't necessarily told in the correct order. Though I'm pretty sure Palermo's casual sex offer happened earlier in the timeline, probably on day one or two (they all had just learned of Cincinnati's name, after all, and Tokyo is just thanking everyone for agreeing with the plan), I don't really know about the "Boom Boom Ciao" scene. For several reasons, I believe that one takes place towards the end of their stay at the monastery, and that's the timeline I will be following here if I happen to write more for this series. Let's see how this one turns out first.
> 
>  **Edit:** The lovely Rosario asked to translate this fic into Spanish so now it's available at Wattpad ([Haré sonreír tu corazón](https://www.wattpad.com/951307623)). It was a fantastic experience to be able to read this story in the language the characters actually speak in my head, so go check it out and tell them your thoughts. :)

Mirko waits for almost a week before mustering the nerve to knock on Palermo's door. The funny part is that it was Nairobi the one who pushed him to do it.

"He was only joking." He had tried reasoning with her later that night, when none of them couldn't relax, still too unsettled with the idea of sleeping in a cell.

"Oh, come on, Helsi." Nairobi had insisted. "Palermo was practically licking his lips when you rolled up your shirt."

Mirko didn't contradict her, then. He saw it too, of course, but he never took it seriously. Palermo was beautiful, smart, elegant. He wasn't the sort of man who would give him the time of day if they casually met in a club, in the street, or any other social situation. Mirko had slept with men like Palermo before, but those men usually didn't offer him blowjobs in public like it was something to brag about. Over the years, he had learned to trust his instincts. It kept him alive so far, and Mirko knew there's a catch there somewhere.

Nairobi let the subject rest for a couple of days, and they kept busy with the lessons and target practices. She brought it up on a particularly cold night when Mirko made the mistake of mentioning how much he missed Argentina and its mild winter.

"We all know you have a hot piece of Argentinian steak right across the hall," Nairobi says nonchalantly as she reads a magazine by the candlelight. Mirko can't see the title from his bed, but there's the picture of a baby on the cover.

"It's against the rules, Nairobi." He scratches his beard, not ready to have this argument again so soon. Palermo hasn't brought his offer again, and Mirko didn't expect him to. "No personal relations, the Professor said."

"And yet Lisbon is probably riding his dick as we speak." She laughs and turns to him with a naughty expression on her face. She puts her magazine down, and Mirko braces himself. "Look, _mi amor_ , I'm just saying. There's a good chance this job will kill us all, so I don't know... maybe you should try to get some if you have the chance? I know I'd do it if I could." She says, her face turning a bit sour. "I'm going to become a virgin again here; you mark my words. There are dozens of single men in this place, and my only options are the likes of Bogotá or Marseille."

Helsinki feels a little relaxed and tries not to laugh. "They seem very nice men."

Nairobi doesn't reply right way, but she makes a face. " _Puta Madre_ , Helsi." She rolls her eyes. "Those two were part of Berlin's fucking boy band."

"Oh," he can't help but laugh this time. "And Palermo was not?"

Nairobi chuckles. "Yeah, he's a smug bastard, alright, but I'm not saying you should go and ask for his hand." She looks deadly serious at him. "His ass seems nice enough."

" _Nairobi_!"

"What?" She throws up her hands, her magazine entirely forgotten. "Every single class that guy bends or twirls to show us one of his little toys, you just can't pry your baby blue eyes from his backside."

Mirko feels his mouth going dry and has to fight a cough that builds its way inside his throat. "You sit in front of me, Nairobi, how can you tell?"

"So..." She whispers in a conspiratorial tone, turning her whole body, so now Mirko knows he has her undivided attention. "You're saying I am right, yes?"

He feels as his face goes hot, which gives him a feverish sensation. Mirko doesn't take her bait, but his silence betrays him all the same, and in the end, is more to escape Nairobi's judgmental laughing than anything else that he gets up and puts on his pants. He leaves the room at her shouts of _"Go get him!"_.

Mirko stops on his tracks as he closes the door behind him. If it was cold in the cell, out there is almost unbearable. He realizes he barely can feel his fingertips, and he's deciding if he should go to the kitchen to make a cup of hot tea when he notices Palermo's door at the other side of the corridor and quickly makes up his mind. There's light escaping around its edges, and as he steps closer enough, raising his arm to knock, he realizes he can hear music right before the door opens.

"Oh, good evening." Palermo looks up at him, a half-full glass of whisky in his hand. "Is the music too loud?"

Mirko doesn't recognize the song right away, a slow, quiet, constant beat. Very good to dance with a partner, he thinks. He likes the sound of it. Not as much as he likes the view of Palermo in a dark silky robe, with a bit of skin showing. He wonders if Palermo doesn't feel the cold. Mirko notices he does not have an undershirt beneath it, and he knows how he wouldn't like anything better than to press that man against the nearest wall and fell that soft fabric between his hands, maybe to lick the exposed collarbone and every bit of skin that would become available. He doesn't move from his spot by the door, though. He remembers Palermo had asked him a question.

"No, no, it's not. I just-" Mirko tries to smile, maybe to put Palermo at ease, but he quickly realizes he's ridiculous. That man doesn't seem scared at all. In fact, he has a knowing smile in the corner of his mouth that's equal parts infuriating and endearing. "I couldn't sleep." He admits in the end. It's the truth, after all.

"Ah, we cannot have that, can we?" Palermo takes a sip of his glass and licks the corner of his lips. Mirko feels something stir in both his groin and his chest. He is quite sure Palermo is drunk or at least working his way up there. "Come in, big guy." He steps aside, and Mirko hesitates only for a second before ducking his head to enter.

"Helsinki, right?" He says, but it doesn't sound like a question, so Mirko remains silent.

Palermo's room is roughly the same size as the one he shares with Nairobi, but somehow it feels smaller, so cluttered with boxes, books, and barrels. It seemed thoroughly lived in, though Mirko knew them all had moved in on the very same day. Maybe it was his before, years back when that crazy plan was just a plan, not a solid reality just waiting to blow up on their faces.

There are three or four naked lightbulbs that barely brighten up the cell, so Palermo had lit candles on every available surface. Mirko tries not to worry about the fire hazard, especially with all the books and sheets of paper scattered around and realizes at least it was warm in there. A gang of millionaires they may be, but apparently, none of them bothered to buy new radiators. The ones in use barely did the trick.

"Do you care for a drink?" Palermo asks when Mirko doesn't move or says anything else, and he accepts a glass of wine just to have something to do with his hands.

Mirko always felt uneasy at that part, the bit when you are supposed to play with your food before eating it. When you grew up accustomed to limited options, you did learn not to be picky. So, he doesn't say anything. He just sips his wine and watches in silence as Palermo partly walks, partly waltzes around the room until he reaches for one of the large barrels against the wall, currently being used as a makeshift table. In the top of where it lays an old record player.

"So, tell me," Palermo says in a mellow voice. "Do you dance, Helsinki?" He has his back turned, and his robe doesn't leave much room for the imagination, the soft fabric clinging to the lines of his shoulders, his back, the swell of his ass.

"Yes," Mirko replies, taking a sip of wine to wet his tongue. The taste is strong and sweet, and he feels warm all over. "I like dancing."

Palermo promptly bends so he can reach for a large carbon box on the floor. He takes his time looking through the clutter of records inside. Then, without notice, he looks over his shoulder and Mirko startles for a moment, taking his eyes off Palermo's ass only a second too late. He smirks in a clever way, and Mirko realizes that maybe Palermo wasn't that drunk after all.

"Any preferences?" Palermo asks, and Mirko doesn't know if it is his knowing smirk, or the tone of his voice or even the way he balances his whole body on his strong calves, but he knows Palermo isn't talking about music at all.

Mirko feels a cold-hot sensation on his belly. "Well." He allows himself to smile in return. "I guess it depends on the dance partner."

Palermo's smirk turns into a more easy, relaxed smile, and he finally seems to find what he's been looking for. He straights up, puts the record on with a couple of precise little movements. The first accords are familiar, but before Mirko can pinpoint where he knows the song from, Palermo starts to move his arms, dancing his way back to him. Soon, he's close enough for Mirko to count his eyelashes if he only wished to. He knows he wouldn't mind it at all. Palermo has beautiful eyes, a strange colour that could be green or blue, depending on the light.

" _Strangelove_." Palermo says in a low voice, taking the glass from Mirko's hands.

"Sorry?"

Palermo doesn't reply, only laughs at his confused face, moving with the music, pulling Mirko's arm. His hips swing in a slow, cadent pace, and he realizes Palermo is only singing along with the song.

" _Strange highs and strange lows..._ "

Palermo has a deep, soothing voice, the foreign words feeling easy on his tongue. Mirko lets himself be pushed around until both are moving with the beat. He feels hot all over, even though their bodies are barely touching. Palermo is considerably shorter than him, but Mirko is used to it. He puts one of his hands on where Palermo's neck meets his shoulder, feeling the soft, warm skin there, the silky robe almost giving away under his fingertips. He wonders if Palermo is the kind of man who likes to be kissed and tips his head a little, his eyes fixed on his lips.

Mirko startles when he feels the back of Palermo's legs hitting the bed.

" _Will you give it to me?_ "

He blinks, not sure if Palermo is talking to him or just singing, but any doubts are cleared away when Palermo sits on his small bed and starts to loosen the strings of Mirko's pants with the same ease he put on the music or poured him the wine. Mirko doesn't move, except to touch Palermo's hair at the same time he frees his cock from his boxers.

Palermo looks up for just a second, rolling up Mirko's undershirt to uncover his tattooed belly. He runs his hand all over it, humming in appreciation, before he takes his cock in hand and starts to lick the sensitive skin on the head like a cat with a bowl of milk, with short, hesitant strokes. Mirko inhales deeply and closes his eyes, letting the heat slowly built inside him, so he doesn't see the moment Palermo stops licking just to swallow half of its length in one single, skilful movement.

Mirko immediately lets out a short, strangulate whimper, and he holds Palermo's head between his hands, trying to keep himself from fucking his mouth too forcefully. Still, it's hard as he keeps bobbing his head with ease, taking in everything that he can. Mirko opens his eyes just in time to notice Palermo reaching between his legs with a free hand, pressing it against his clothed cock, like the taste of Mirko is enough to make him ache.

Too quickly, Mirko feels his balls tighten up, and he tries to push Palermo's head out of the way when he feels himself dangerously close, but the man just sinks five fingertips on his hips, and he proceeds to swallow every single hot drop. With a lazy smile, he tucks Mirko's softening cock back in his boxers and rests his face against his hips, catching up his breath.

"What took you so long?" Palermo says a moment later, looking up again, palming himself still, his voice a little rough. At first, Mirko doesn't understand his meaning. His own pride is currently a bit hurt. He thought he had come awfully fast. "Didn't you think I was serious about taming your beast?" Palermo asks, then mouthing Mirko's belly, licking over the opened jaw of his tattooed bear, like he's trying to make out with it.

Mirko lets out a groan, and Palermo half lies, half collapses on the mattress, his eyes bright in anticipation, and Mirko doesn't know how he could have mistaken its colour before. Palermo's eyes are green in a way no one could have planned it, a striking calamity of nature. He watches from above as Palermo grins smugly at him, his breathing slowly settling down, and Mirko feels suddenly tired, his legs heavy like he had just run a marathon. Palermo wasn't kidding when he said he was good.

It's partially not to have to stay up a minute longer, but mostly to wash that grin off Palermo's face that Mirko presses a knee on the small bed, between Palermo's spread out legs, the mattress dipping under his weight. He runs both hands over Palermo's pale thighs, shoving the silky robe out of the way, exposing every bit of skin he feels allowed to. Palermo is already hard, the fabric of his white briefs wet against the tip of his cock, and Mirko doesn't wait for permission before taking them off.

He almost misses the firsts noises Palermo makes as he takes him in his mouth because the record player stops in the background at the same time. The sound of the needle rising is a little too loud in the small cell; the silence that follows making everything else feel heighten. Palermo grunts and grasps the sheets between his fists when Mirko starts sucking him in earnest; his breathing laboured, his partly covered chest rising along with Mirko's touches.

When he runs one of his hands over Palermo's belly, Mirko's taken by surprise as he feels a sudden tension on the body under him. By touch alone, he knows Palermo's back is strained like the strings of a violin. He wonders if he did something wrong and let goes of him just for a moment, watching as Palermo's face relaxes when Mirko presses a gentle kiss inside his thighs.

He uses one of his hands to squeeze the tensed muscles in there, and Palermo lets out a strangulate _"come on"_ and a sound that could be a whimper, or it may be a cry. Mirko hooks Palermo's right leg over his shoulder to have better access to his cock, and only then he resumes sucking him with a steady, slow rhythm. After that, it only takes a couple of minutes for Palermo to come, both of his hands pulling the sheets beneath them. Mirko takes everything that is given, from the deep sound of his moans to the bitter taste of him.

Palermo's chest rises and falls in an alluring, steady rhythm, and his eyes are already half-closed when Mirko returns with a washcloth after rinsing his mouth in the sink by the wall.

"You don't have to-" He tries in a small, sleepy voice, but Mirko just shushes him up, feeling Palermo's body warm and pliant under his hands. Mirko knows he could go for a second round right now, but he doesn't mind taking the time just to clean away the sweat off Palermo's thighs. By the time Mirko's finished, though, he had started to snore gently.

Mirko chuckles as he watches Palermo sprawled all over the mattress, crumpled sheets, lips swollen, hair tussled. He feels his chest warm. He wonders how Palermo could look so small in such a tiny bed. He wonders if they would do this again soon. He wishes he could cuddle him, but he doesn't dare to move Palermo, too afraid of waking him up. And something, something tells Mirko he wouldn't be welcomed, but he shuts that voice with ease.

Carefully, he blows out every single candle still lit in the room and turns off the record player. He loosens the silky belt of Palermo's robe, so it doesn't cut off his circulation, and he covers his body with a couple of blankets, so he doesn't get cold during the night. Mirko leaves just one lightbulb on as he closes the door behind him, and sneaks back to his cell.

_There'll be times  
When my crimes  
Will seem almost unforgivable  
I give in to sin  
Because you have to make this life livable  
But when you think I've had enough  
From your sea of love  
I'll take more than another river full  
Yes, and I'll make it all worthwhile  
I'll make your heart smile _  
**Strangelove – Depeche Mode**

**Author's Note:**

> Please, leave a comment if you liked it. No comment is too silly or too short. :) Also, English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any typos/grammar issues so I can fix them. ;) 
> 
> ~~Now, should I write a sequel?~~ So, I wrote a sequel, go check it out: [You better learn your lesson well](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530086) and let me know what you think! What other moments of their time at the monastery would you like to read about? I have a soft spot for the football day, and I may try my hand on that (... and [I did it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616704)).
> 
> You can also find me at [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dana_norram) and [Tumblr](https://call-me-jerusalem.tumblr.com/), where I mostly complain about Helsinki not getting enough fandom love.


End file.
